What Happens When Teachers Don’t Read: The Quiet Lesson Kids Actually Learn
Last October, I was volunteering at my son’s 7th grade book fair, my sneakers sticky from a spilled blue raspberry slushie, stacking paperback graphic novels by the checkout when I overheard a conversation down by the hallway water fountain. A 12-year-old girl named Mia, who I knew from soccer carpool, was holding a dog-eared copy of The Song of Achilles and asking her math teacher if she’d read it for a book recommendation. The teacher laughed, leaned against the wall, and said, “Honey, I haven’t read a book for fun since I graduated college. I can barely get through my lesson plans and 50 math papers a night—who has time for that?” Another teacher waiting for water chimed in, agreeing: the most she reads these days is grocery lists and work email.
I kept stacking books, but the line stuck with me. That night at dinner, I asked my son Jax if any of his teachers besides ELA talked about reading books they’d chosen themselves, not textbooks. Jax shrugged, wiped refried bean crumbs off his homework sheet, and said, “Nah. Why would they? Reading’s homework, right. That’s for us, not them.” It hit me right then: those teachers weren’t being lazy or unprofessional. They were just saying what a lot of overworked people think. But they’d just taught a bigger lesson than any algebra formula or history quiz—they’d taught Mia and everyone listening that reading is a chore you get to leave behind once you’re done with school.
Our school’s ELA teacher, Ms. Lopez, does things a little different. She keeps a stack of books she’s reading on the corner of her desk, and she talks about them the same way other teachers talk about their weekend sports plans. She’ll tell the class she stayed up until 1am finishing a cozy mystery because she couldn’t put it down, or that she re-read the first Harry Potter book every December when she’s stressed about parent-teacher conferences. Last year, Jax came home begging me to buy a copy of The House in the Cerulean Sea just because she mentioned it was her go-to comfort read. That’s the difference, isn’t it? Kids don’t just learn that reading is good because we tell them it is. They learn it because they see us doing it.
A lot of people will push back here and say teachers are already stretched too thin to add “read for fun” to their to-do list. And they’re right. No one is asking every PE teacher or math teacher to carve out two hours a night for a novel when they’re already grading until midnight. But you don’t have to be a prolific reader to model it for kids. Small, low-effort moves work just fine. A math teacher can keep a poetry collection on their desk and read one poem before first bell, then mention it to the class when someone asks what they’re reading. A science teacher can talk about the new astronomy book they’re reading a chapter of every Sunday morning over coffee. Even admitting you haven’t finished a book in six months, but you’re trying to get back into it, is better than saying you never read at all. The point isn’t to be perfect, it’s to show that reading is something adults do for themselves, not just something kids have to do for a grade.
A couple weeks after the book fair, I went in for a parent observation day in Jax’s math class—Ms. Henderson’s class, the same teacher I’d overheard at the book fair. Halfway through the lesson on slope-intercept form, she paused mid-lecture and pulled a paperback out of her bag. It was the same cozy mystery I’d seen for sale at the book fair, with a cat on the cover. “Y’all,” she said, “I picked this up at the book fair two weeks ago ‘cause my sister gave it to me for my birthday. I never read, but I stayed up until 11pm Tuesday finishing this. It’s so good. If any of you like silly murder mysteries, you can borrow it when I’m done, it’s going up to the library after I finish this unit.” Jax told me after class that five kids stopped by her desk after the bell to ask about it. No one had to rewrite the curriculum or add a new requirement. She just said one sentence about reading for fun, and that was enough to shift something.
For parents who are looking at this and wondering what to do if most of their kid’s teachers don’t model reading, there are small things you can do too. Next time you go to parent-teacher conferences, skip the small talk for a minute and ask, “Have you read any good books lately that my kid might like?” It’s a low-pressure question that normalizes talking about reading with kids, even if the answer is that they haven’t had time. At home, make your own reading visible: leave the book you’re reading on the kitchen counter, talk about it over dinner the same way you talk about your favorite TV show. If your kid says their teacher doesn’t read, don’t bash the teacher—just say, “That’s too bad, I love reading before bed every night, it’s how I unwind.” You don’t have to do anything fancy.
Last month, Jax brought home a crumpled permission slip for a new after-school book club run by the school’s art teacher and gym teacher. The art teacher brings her collection of graphic novels about mountain climbing, and the gym teacher brings old outdoor adventure memoirs he’s had since he was a kid. It’s not a graded class, no one has to write a report, they just eat snacks and talk about what they’re reading. Jax asked me to drive him to the public library last weekend to pick out a book to bring to the first meeting. I don’t know if the club will still be going next year, when the gym teacher goes out on medical leave or schedules get rearranged. I don’t know if every teacher at the school will ever start talking about their favorite books. But right now, it’s working. It’s the quiet lesson we all want kids to learn: reading isn’t homework. It’s just something you do, because it matters to you.
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